“I think so,” I replied, my heart pounding in my ears. I couldn’t believe this was happening. “What the hell just happened?”
“Flat tire,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, frustration radiating off him. “We need to get out and check.”
I nodded, but the thought of stepping into that storm made my stomach churn. With a deep breath, I unbuckled my seatbelt and swung the door open, rain instantly soaking me to the bone.
“Stay close,” Caiden ordered, his voice firm as he stepped out beside me.
We stumbled around to the back of the car, the rain pouring down in torrents. The wind whipped at my hair, and I felt the chill seep into my bones.
“Great,” I muttered, looking at the flat tire. “Now what?”
“We’ll have to walk to that exit up ahead,” he gestured through the downpour. “There’s a motel a few miles down the road. We can wait it out there until the storm passes.”
“Are you serious?” I glared at him. “In this weather?”
“Yes.” His tone brooked no argument. “It’s either that or we sit here and wait for someone to pass by, and who knows how long that could take with how isolated this road has been.”
I hated the idea, but I also knew he was right. The rain was relentless, and sitting in the car wouldn’t do either of us any good.
“Fine,” I said, my resolve hardening.
I was relieved that Caiden and I had packed a jacket. We yanked it from our backpack, bracing ourselves for the inferno of rain outside.
We slogged through the storm; sheets of water soaked me in an instant, blurring the world into a cold, swirling mess of grey. The wind roared so fiercely that our voices died before they left our throats.
Yet I felt Caiden’s presence like a lifeline, a steady pull on my sleeve guiding me forward when every instinct screamed to turn back.
Each drop of rain stung my skin like angry bees, and the road ahead vanished under torrents that turned asphalt into a gleaming hazard.
My boots sank into the mud with each step, the squelch beneath me echoing the sense that my life, too, was stuck in thisendless downpour. I swallowed and tried to ignore the familiar panic rising in my chest.
Branches whipped at my face. Shadows darted at the edge of the forest, bringing back memories of that dreadful night in Colorado: how Caiden and I had been lost, terrified, trapped under a sky that seemed bent on our destruction, and how we’d nearly become prey to that madman.
The memory landed like an ice pick through my ribs.
I felt the urge to run, to tear free of the past clawing at me. Caiden’s hand closed around mine, fingers digging in with that trademark firmness that always spoke of possessiveness.His voice rose above the storm.
“We’re almost there.”
I blinked through the rain, trying to trust him, though the spectral terror of that other storm clawed at the edges of my mind. Thunder boomed. My heart leapt. I flinched.
Then I thought I saw him—Blake—leaning at the tree line, eyes empty and smiling like death itself. I tightened my grip on Caiden’s hand, and he gave my fingers a half-pressure squeeze, as if he could feel the feverish tremble running up my arm.
“Amelia?” He shouted, scanning the road. Concern flickered across his features; it always frightened me how tightly he read my moods. “You okay?”
I swallowed so hard my throat hurt. “I—yeah,” I lied, forcing my steps forward. But the shadows kept reaching for me, whispering that I deserved to remember everything.
Then, headlights cut through the gale. A car eased to a stop beside us. An older woman leaned from the window, her features kind but edged with worry. “Need a lift?” she hollered.
Caiden hesitated, eyes flicking to me. I saw that silent debate: protect us by refusing or save us by accepting. I gave a curt nod, my teeth chattering.
With a stiff nod, he moved aside, gesturing me in first. Relief flooded me as I tumbled into the dry warmth of the passenger seat. Caiden was right behind me, settling in with that straight-backed posture that reminded me he was always on guard.
“Where are you two headed?” the woman asked once she was back on the road.
“To the motel up ahead,” Caiden answered. His voice was calm, clipped. “Flat tire, nothing serious.”
The driver smiled. “Wandering Willow Inn? Quirky place. Owner’s kind.”
